


This is Godspell For the Fallen Ones: The Nardowells and Insufferable Bastards

by candicame



Series: Hyrule Warriors AU [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, hyrule warriors au, vent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:09:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12888573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candicame/pseuds/candicame
Summary: With the master sword stolen, our heros must set out to retrieve it while the Demon King fears for his very life.  Meanwhile, Link must come to terms with what his life has become as a prisoner.  Hyrule Warriors AU where the villans won, and sequel to Change Your Like a Remix, Raise You Like a Phoenix.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it finally is, the continuation that I promised months ago!
> 
> As always, tips are appreciated: https://ko-fi.com/takocos
> 
> Coming out of the gate with drama in this one.

Ghirahim hid his nervousness well, and Link found it interesting to watch, because he was normally so open with his emotions.  But he sat for a long time on his knees, offering slices of fruit to Ganondorf or Link, prattling on and on about day-to day things, about his time training the soldiers, the information he had gathered on the assassin (next to nothing, but she hadn’t been spotted a second time, so she had probably left), the status of the various dignitaries who had attended the coronation, that sort of thing.  He tried to feign casualness, kept the same light tone, as he broke the terrible news.

“And you may notice, master, that the shipment from the Gerudo fortress is a little lighter than it should be.  There was a bit of trouble at some point during the time we left it in Volga’s hands and some items are missing.  We believe they have been stolen, and I would like your permission to retrieve them.” He said it so casually, while offering him another piece of fruit, that for a second the king, in his tired state, thought he had heard him incorrectly.

“Stolen?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Link was lying on top of him now, enduring the scratching that Ganondorf seemed to enjoy when he had the chance, behind one sensitive ear with his palm resting on the back of Link’s head.  It was the same set of motions he had gone through at the coronation when Link had sat at his feet, and it made him feel like a pet, but he was beginning to wonder if that was some sort of sign of affection, rather than a ploy at humiliation, because the king didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it.

“Yes, master, that’s what we’ve been led to believe.” Ghirahim still held the slice of the pear, and Ganondorf made no move to take it, so Link reached for it and stuffed it in his mouth.

“What was stolen?” Ganondorf asked, his voice growing more serious.

“My intelligence tells me that Vaati was somehow able to enter the hidden armory-” Ghirahim began, but fell silent as Ganondorf cut him off.  He had jerked upright, which had thrown Link off the mattress, and grabbed Ghirahim’s shoulders with both hands.

“What did he get?  Is the master sword still there!?” Ganondorf shook his servant violently, but began to speak quietly, as if to himself, “Of course we still have it.  Of course it’s here.  He couldn’t pick it up, wouldn’t have been able to transport it.  Ghirahim, hold the master sword.  Show it to me.  SHOW ME THAT WE STILL HAVE IT!”  He shook him again, hard enough to send his perfect hair whipping around his face, “Show me that we still have the one weapon that haunts my nightmares- just to ease my troubled mind!”

“He…” Ghirahim faltered, “He took everything master, including Fi.”

“How!?”

“We believe he may have used the mirror, the one he used to control the minds of weak willed humans.  We think he may have possessed Yuga’s assistant, Ravio.” Ghirahim explained, and winced as Ganondorf’s hands tightened on his shoulders.  Link wondered how strong the Demon King was- he hadn’t thought that Ghirahim was capable of feeling physical pain.

“When did this happen?” Ganondorf snarled, “How long has the sword been missing?”

“I was informed, master, by Zant, after he returned from the fortress,” Ghirahim stared up at him with pleading eyes.

“THIS MORNING!?  WHY DIDN’T YOU COME TO ME IMMEDIATELY!?” Ganondorf bellowed, and Link began looking frantically for his clothes.  He remembered that Ghirahim had had all of the things from his bunk packed into a chest and bolted for the dressing room.

“Master, I didn’t want to worry you,” Ghirahim pleaded, “You were already so stressed over the assassin, the foreign dignitaries, the cuccos- there was just never an opportune time!”

“Oh but you had time to play around with your little hero, didn’t you?” Ganondorf snarled.

Link threw open chest after chest until he finally found the one with his clothes, neatly folded and pressed.  He dug through them looking for his uniform, and changed his mind.  It would send the wrong signals.  Instead, he pulled out one of his tunics, the blue one- he would hate to drown in Lorule when it could have been avoided, and began to hastily dress.

“Master, I didn’t want to upset you.  I was so enraged when I found out I feared I would do something I would later regret.  Your nerves were already so frayed over so much Hylian nonsense that I feared your rage would overtake you as well.  And you’ve been so careful lately, I was afraid you would regret it!  I was really thinking of your best interests.  Please, master, you know I would never do anything to upset you!”

“This is a betrayal!” Ganondorf snarled, “You hid this from me!  You wasted time while that Piccori is running around with a grudge and a weapon of mass destruction who knows no mercy!  You monster!”

Link watched from the doorway of the dressing room as Ganondorf picked Ghirahim up and threw him onto the splinters of wood littering the floor.  He took a deep breath as his mind called up memories of trying to shove Ghirahim off of him earlier, when he had been sitting on him.  He was so heavy.

“I would never betray you, master!” Ghirahim picked himself up and leaned forward into a bow, “I was trying to help!”

“Help me!?” Ganondorf laughed, “By getting me trapped again!?  Your reckless obsession with Demise is going to get me killed!  Do you think that I want to be banished by that blade again!?  Petrified?  DO YOU KNOW THE UNENDING SUFFERING OF DEATH AFTER DEATH AFTER DEATH!?  I AM NOT A GOD, GHIRAHIM!  VAATI IS COMING FOR ME WITH THE ONE WEAPON THAT CAN DESTROY ME, AND YOU DID NOTHING!”

“Fi cannot destroy you, master,” Ghirahim reminded him, “Not completely.  You are blessed.  You may be broken, but you can be reassembled, reborn.  Your soul will cycle and soon be born anew.”

“I’M NOT DOING THIS SHIT AGAIN!” Ganondorf was unrecognizable.  His eyes, scar, and hand were glowing so brightly that he looked like a spirit, and the dark magic radiating from him filled the room until Link choked on it.  He had to escape.  He could go on down to the armory, or find Zant and Yuga and tell them to prepare.

“I’m sorry, master,” Ghirahim pressed his forehead to the floor, then pushed himself up on his hands and knees to look up at him, “But I will make this right!  I will find Fi and shatter her!”

“I’M CURSED!” Ganondorf screamed to no one in particular, “CURSED BY INCOMPETENCE, CURSED BY THIS DEMON!  WHY DID HE DO THIS TO ME!?  I HAD ENOUGH SHIT TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT SOME ANCIENT FEUD BETWEEN TWO GODS!  I’LL OPEN A GATE OF TIME AND SLAY THAT MONSTER DEMISE WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS- WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING!?”

Link jumped and threw up both hands in a gesture of submission as a magical ward sealed over the door.  It felt strangely familiar.  He cautiously stepped around the room, with his eyes locked to Ganondorf’s outstretched hand, which was beginning to glow with holy magic as if he were readying a spell, until he made it to the broken bed, and grabbed his pack from where it had fallen.  He took out his journal and began to write as Ganondorf stared him down.

_ Look, I think we’re all just a little tense right now.  We need to be solution oriented.  I will travel to Lorule and retrieve the items.   _

__ “By all three goddesses, have you lost your mind?” Ganondorf snapped, “You’re not going anywhere!  Sit down!  The adults are talking!”

_ Master, every second we waste time debating this, Vaati grows in power. _

__ But Ganondorf was no longer looking at him.  He had turned back to Ghirahim.

__ “How did he know Vaati was in Lorule?” Ganondorf asked Ghirahim, “Is Vaati in Lorule?”

“We think so, master.  Volga insists that no one entered or left your chambers, so we believe he used the boy, Ravio, to exit through the portal to Lorule,” Ghirahim explained.

“He could be amassing an army.  That queen is probably as weak-willed as Zelda.  THERE COULD BE A WAR, GHIRAHIM!”

“I will defeat him tonight, master.  I will bring Fi back in pieces!” Ghirahim’s hands curled into fists.  This had not gone according to plan.

“Why did it have to be you, Ghirahim?” Ganondorf’s face fell, and the energy drained from him.  “Why did  _ you _ have to hide things from me?  Betray me?”

Link felt that this reaction was far more dramatic than the situation warranted.  He wanted to leave.  But he had no idea how to break down the magical barriers that had appeared over every exit.

“I’m sorry, master.” Ghirahim looked close to tears, “I can fix this.  I will fix this.  I will.  I never meant to hurt you.  I don’t…  I can’t.  I was made for you.  I was trying to help you.”

“You were made for Demise, demon lord,” Ganondorf looked exhausted, “Did he deserve it?  Because he didn’t deserve  _ me _ .  Or did you learn to grovel like this because you lived in fear?  Get up.  It disgusts me to see such a powerful creature in tears, on his knees.”

Ghirahim slowly climbed to his feet, but answered none of the questions he had been asked.

“Answer me,” Ganondorf demanded as he picked up the robe had had discarded, snarled at the ripped fabric, and slipped it on.

“It pains a sword spirit to respond to a question with ‘I don’t know’, master,” Ghirahim trembled.

“Volga let this happen?” Ganondorf asked.

“He is my underling, master.  I accept responsibility for this.”

_ It doesn’t matter who’s fault it was!  We need to fix this! _

__ Link marched up to Ganondorf, who seemed to have calmed down, to show him what he had written.  Ganondorf took the book from his hands, closed it, and smacked Link in the face with it.

“Do not bother me again, little hero,” he warned as Link saw stars and tried to regain his balance.  Ganondorf threw the journal onto the broken bed.

“How noble of you, Ghirahim,” Ganondorf snarled, and Ghirahim shrank back as he grabbed him by the hair on either side of his face, “Listen to me.  Pay close attention.  If you do not bring me back the Blade of Evil’s Bane, if you do not bring back the wind mage- preferably alive so that I may deal with him, and if you EVER compare me to Demise again, I will trap you in that sword, do you understand me?  You will NEVER take a living form again.  And I will lock you away in a temple, guarded by those dragons you love so much, while you rust, alone, in a chest somewhere, for all eternity.” His grip tightened, “and if you ever keep something like this from me again, I will shatter you first, and spread the pieces across the country.  That will give you plenty of time to think of how you have disobeyed me.  Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes master,” Ghirahim spoke so quietly that even Link, with his Hylian senses, barely heard him.

“Good.  Now get out of my sight.  If I don’t hear from you in the morning I’m coming after you, and you had better pray to your dead god that the army Vaati is surely amassing finds you before I do.” Ganondorf released him, and Ghirahim took a few steps back before he regained his footing.

“Yes master.” He bowed, “Master?  Can I please…  have permission to speak.”

“I’ve heard enough from you,” Ganondorf growled.

Tears leaked from Ghirahim’s eyes, but his voice did not shake as he replied, “Yes master”.

He snapped his fingers, and disappeared.

Link had moved back to the door, and tried to open it, but Ganondorf grabbed him by the back of his tunic and threw him.  He was much lighter than Ghirahim and went flying across the room until he hit a wall and bounced to the floor.  He rolled until he was standing, but stopped in his tracks to eavesdrop as Ganondorf spoke quietly to the leader of the moblin guard, their king, who had appeared outside the door when summoned.

“I don’t want to alert the rest of the castle,” Ganondorf was saying, “No need to cause a panic, but I need an alarm by my door.  I probably won’t sleep tonight and I no longer trust my bodyguard.”

“Absolutely, your majesty,” The Moblin King replied, “After all you’ve done for us, my entire army is at your disposal.”

“Just use the stones to alert me of any changes.  Anything.  I may be a little paranoid.”

“Of course, your majesty.” 

“Thank you.”

The Moblin King bowed and took his leave, and Ganondorf closed the door, locked it, and leaned heavily against it.  He was hyperventilating, and it shocked Link.  He had never seen the mask crack, never seen him truly afraid.  Ganondorf waved his hand and held up the crystal, the bane of Link’s existence.

“I’m sorry, boy, but I can’t take any chances.”

Link shook his head, and his eyes darted around to try to find something, anything to use as a weapon.

“Link,” Ganondorf warned- no.

Pleaded.

“Don’t fight me.  I need a bodyguard I can trust.  Something like this always happens.  The redeads…  the flood…  the civil war…  there’s going to be an interdimensional war, and it’s going to be my fault because I let Vaati live and YOU are going to KILL me, or trap me, or petrify me…  everyone is going to blame me.  I can’t do this again!  I won’t be a monster again!  I will not be recorded in another history book as a blight!  So do.  Not.  Fight.  Me.”

Link eyed him with suspicion.

“Don’t make me choose.  Don’t make me kill you again.  You’re not…  I’m not Demise!  And you’re not the boy with the evil eyes who doomed us!  We still have a chance!  Now hold still.”

Link trembled as he backed into the wall, frantically shaking his head.  He backed into a corner, and with nowhere else to go as Ganondorf approached, he reached out and grabbed his wrist, shoved against him, fought.

“Stop!” Ganondorf commanded, and both of them stalled.  Link looked up at him, panting from the effort, coursing with the magic that came from being so close, and took in the sight of him.  He finally looked as old as he claimed to be, the scar on his chest looked like a wound, and Link saw no trace of a god.

It finally dawned on him that this mountain of a man, who commanded armies of demons and monsters- was afraid of him.  He finally slid the puzzle pieces together.  The only thing that had ever hurt Ganondorf was the hero in green carrying the sword that called out for his blood.  An army of them, lined up since the beginning of time- an army of men in green with his face who took down the avatar of a god among mortals.

Was it a sin?  Was he cursed because this soul had spilled sacred blood?  Was Din punishing him because of something he had done in another life?  Was everything that had happened to him a punishment for a sin he did not remember?

The triforce on the back of his hand shone as he tried to push the crystal away, and the sacred mark on the child of Din matched it in intensity.  The touch sent magic radiating through him, and it felt just as right now as it had all night.  It felt exactly like it had with Zelda.  He could no longer deny that.

Ganondorf stared down at him with one eyebrow arched, waiting.

Link took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and forced himself to speak.  It had been a long night, and it would take everything out of him, but he needed Ganondorf to know, needed him to understand.

“I won’t hurt you,” Link promised with such sincerity that it pained the Demon King.

“You don’t know how badly I wish I could believe you,” Ganondorf closed the space between them with a single motion, too fast for Link to detect or block or move, and shoved the crystal in place on his forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise bitch. Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/takocos, and you have a ton of patience.

Ghirahim appeared as quietly as he could manage in a cloud of diamonds, and backed until he hit a wall.  He buried his face in his hands and slid until he hit the ground, pulling at his hair and willing himself to calm down.  He didn’t understand why he was upset- he shouldn’t be upset. Everything had gone more or less according to plan. But his hands shook, and tears welled from his eyes, and his mortal form flickered as if it wanted to disappear.

“Keep it together,” he commanded himself.

“Ghirahim?” Zant sat up from the bed where he had been trying to sleep after making his final preparations for the journey, though sleep had not come to him.

“Don’t look at me!” Ghirahim snapped.

“Don’t look at me either; I’m not dressed,” Zant requested as he stretched, then stood and walked into a small dressing room.  He emerged in his underthings, the Twil pants that he wore under his robe, and watched Ghirahim from the doorway as his body shook.

“Are you crying?” He asked at length.

“Yes!” Ghirahim snapped.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked as he hung up his undershirt and pulled it taunt to smooth it out.

“No!”

“He didn’t take it well, did he?” 

“Zant, stop speaking to me!” Ghirahim barked.

“But we have a mission and you have all the information about it,” Zant protested as he pulled his shirt on, and drew the hood taunt.

“No, if you must know, he did not take it well.” Ghirahim buried his face in his cloak and instantly regretted it, “I must look a mess.”

“You do,” Zant said sincerely, because the sight unnerved him.  Ghirahim’s appearance was important to him, so to see him discard it completely put him on edge.

“Thank you,” Ghirahim said with daggers in his voice.

“I respect you too much to lie to you,” Zant shrugged, “The idea that your beauty ever wanes frightens me.  Your vanity was one of the few constants in my life. I feel that your aesthetic mirrors your soul even more than most creatures.  Are you alright?”

“No,” Ghirahim took a deep breath, “No, I’m not.”

“I thought not,” Zant hummed in thought, and asked, “Did you have a fight?”

“He didn’t take it well,” Ghirahim answered.

“Yes, but that isn’t what I meant.  I wasn’t trying to ask if you had a fight about the missing Master Sword- I figured he would be upset about that- I was wondering if something else had happened or…  come up. You’re my friend, and I worry about you. Something is bothering you that you didn’t predict. You only get this upset when something throws off your plans.”

Ghirahim looked up at him from where he sat on the floor.

“I regret…  getting emotional in front of you,” Ghirahim said as he stood and made his way to Zant’s mirror.  He frowned at himself, snapped his fingers, and when his face regained its normal composure he turned it from side to side to make sure that there was no misplaced eyeliner, no running mascara, no redness in his scalara that would tip off the observant artist that he had been crying.

“I’ve been told,” Zant pulled out the chair before the vanity mirror, and Ghirahim stepped to the side to let him, “That regret is the future tense of indecision.  When I was young, many people told me I would regret my face tattoo. But I do not. Because I was sure I wanted it. You needn’t be torn about whether or not you show sorrow around me, Ghirahim.  We’re friends. You can feel however you like.”

“He said he…  hates Demise,” Ghirahim slowly slid his hand over Zant’s robe, hanging on the wall, in order to have something to touch.

“Perhaps he does,” Zant drew thin, black lines around his eyes and extended a small point from the center of each eye to the top of his cheekbones.

“His own soul?” Ghirahim asked with wide eyes and quiet contemplation.

“Perhaps?  Or perhaps he needs a manifestation of the cycle of his destruction towards which to direct his anger, and Demise is the part of himself that began it, and therefore the part that he is able to disconnect with enough to lay blame to.  Maybe power corrupts in large quantities and he feels corrupted. I don’t pretend to know the thoughts of gods, Ghirahim.” He shrugged and stood to take his robes.

“Demise didn’t curse him,” Ghirahim explained as if he were answering a question, though Zant hadn’t asked one.  “He wanted to live, he is an immortal, and will always return to me.”

“Maybe give him some space?” Zant suggestion helpfully as struggled into his oversized robes.  “He must be frightened. Fi craves his blood- you said that she was created not as a companion, as you were, but specifically to kill him.  You said that she has no emotions, no mercy. That sounds terrifying, Ghirahim. And fear can manifest in many ways. Perhaps he isn’t really angry with you- perhaps that was just the most convenient way to express those emotions, because he knows that you won’t judge him for them.  Perhaps his opinion of you is so high that he trusts you with things like that.”

“You think so?” Ghirahim asked, and regarded himself in the mirror.  He had dressed so hastily he feared that he may have summoned the wrong outfit.  If Ganondorf liked him in black, he would wear black. 

“I try not to think too heavily on things that I don’t understand.” Zant picked up a traveling pouch and clipped it around his waist, then secured his robes over it, “Interpersonal relationships have always eluded me.  I’ve wondered why I don’t find them as fascinating as other people for… most of my life.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right person,” Ghirahim suggested as if he were in a position to be giving relationship advice.

“Perhaps I never will.  You are in a unique position.  Most of us aren’t made for a specific person, or a specific purpose.  Most of us are thrust into life scrambling for meaning in the face of an uncaring universe with mortal minds that cannot comprehend the will of gods.  We are not bound by prophecy or purpose, but must create our own. Therefore if this concept of a perfect soul who would match my own, as you feel with your master, does exist in the world, the chances that we will ever find each other seem terribly small and trivial.  I just can’t muster the emotions I would need to care very deeply about it. I feel fine on my own, and I think that may be the difference. You seem so torn when you don’t have him, but I… don’t feel that. I don’t feel a need to find my other half, because I don’t feel like half of anything.  I feel whole on my own.” Zant clasped his shoes together and stood.

“An enviable position,” Ghirahim said sadly.

“Perhaps,” Zant shrugged.  “Are we ready to leave, then?”

“Do I look like I’ve been crying?” Ghirahim asked.

“I don’t know,” Zant tilted his head to look at his friend, trying to figure out what that meant, “You always look like this.”

“Do I always look like I’ve been crying?” Ghirahim asked with an edge to his voice.

“I don’t know, Ghirahim.  I’m not very good at reading people, and I’m always a little frightened to ask if you’ve been crying because you always get so defensive, for reasons that I don’t understand.  I felt as if you were going to stab me at the coronation when I asked, and I would prefer if you didn’t, because it hurts very badly, and if you do it enough, it could end my life.  I’m mortal. I need all my squishy organs on the inside of my flesh.” Zant ran his hands over his torso to illustrate his point, “So frankly, when you get stab happy, I try to leave you alone.  Have you given any more thought to the yoga?”

“I’m not going to stab you,” Ghrahim promised, and took deep breaths, and when he spoke again it was slowly, carefully, and with great reluctance, “and I am aware that I am…  flawed. I am going to work on it. If you like, you can teach me your… contortionism.”

“It’ll be fun!” Zant promised, “But perhaps after we return?  We should go get Yuga to take us to Lorule, if you’re ready to go.”

“I’m beyond ready,” Ghirahim agreed.

  


The artist had not pretended to sleep as the priest had.  Instead, he stood before a canvas when the pair entered his sitting room, painting from a charcoal sketch that he had hung on the wall, frowning and murmuring under his breath about ‘the stupid boy’.

When he heard them, he sprung to attention, swiping his brush in turpentine and cleaning it on a rag.  If Ghirahim had been in a better state of mind, he would have been happy to see that the painting, which Yuga had just laid the foundation for, was a portrait of him in repose, as he had appeared the night they met.  As it was, he had no spare thoughts for ego, and spoke as Yuga pulled a paintbrush from the ether.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

“I would have left earlier,” Yuga replied, “Had I been allowed.  I worry for my homeland. I don’t like the idea of such a wicked sorcerer or such a dangerous weapon just running freely about.  My poor queen must be out of her mind.”

“We should pick up the dragon,” Ghirahim stood to his full height and tried to exude more confidence than he felt, “Then we can leave.”

“Why?” Zant asked, “He wasn’t very helpful earlier.  He didn’t protect the armory when he should have, and he teetered between flattery and intimidation when I spoke to him.”

“He wants a chance to redeem himself in my eyes,” Ghirahim explained, “And you were the one who accused me of a lack of leadership skills.  So I will let my lackey prove himself, if he must. And if he can’t, then he will die trying.”

He saw no need to tell anyone that Ganondorf had threatened him with being imprisoned by dragons, for a number of reasons.  After his talk with Zant he wasn’t entirely sure that the threat was one that would be carried out, but if it was made in complete seriousness, it would suit Ghirahim to have a good reputation among dragonkind.  He was accustomed to ruling by might- after all he was a creature heavily aligned with power- but he was trying to follow Ganondorf’s lead and develop a sense of compassion. It left a bad taste in his mouth, but he was beginning to understand how it could be useful.

“Do you want me to open a portal?” Zant asked, eager to be helpful.

“If you must,” Ghirahim huffed, and asked conversationally, “We are all adept mages, correct.  We can all teleport?”

Zant nodded enthusiastically, but Yuga hesitated before agreeing.  He looked as if he had something he wanted to say, but had changed his mind at the last second.

“What?” Ghirahim asked.

“Nothing,” Yuga assured him, and gripped the brush, that was more like a mage staff, in both hands, “Only…  I…”

“We don’t have all night!” Ghirahim felt his composure slipping, “My master expects me to return with the Blade of Evil’s Bane before the sun rises!”

“Nothing!” Yuga said earnestly, with wide eyes, “I only…  I admit that I find fault with myself in the presence of such great sorcerers.  I fancied myself the greatest magic-user in Lorule, but when I saw the spells you cast, and the ease with which magic flows through you both…  I can teleport. But not so easily or with as little wear and tear on my soul as you.”

“Did you prepare potions?” Ghirahim asked, annoyed.

“Yes,” Yuga nodded.

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.  Let’s go pick up that little lizard and get out of here!  We are wasting moonlight!” He snapped his fingers, and disappeared without waiting on Zant to open any portals.

“Don’t mind him,” Zant said helpfully, “He’s under a bit of stress right now.”


End file.
